


in bloom

by justlikeswitchblades



Series: ivy and concrete [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Bullying, Gen, Teikou Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Midorima is a bud on a branch, with Aomine shielding him from the wind with one hand and clumsily prying his petals open with the other.





	in bloom

**Author's Note:**

> 6/7 teikou aomido + me trying to extend that peach metaphor

As far as Aomine’s ever noticed, Midorima is always the last person to leave practice. Not that he always sees Midorima at practice in the first place; it's still the beginning of summer, and Captain Nijimura sometimes still has Midorima working with the B team. From what he's heard, Midorima has some kind of stretching routine that he always does. And then Aomine sometimes runs into him in the hallway during lunch; he's seen the tape Midorima keeps on his hand. _That_ looks like it takes time. Not that Aomine usually stays late enough to witness it--for all his slowness, Murasakibara is fond of badgering him into getting popsicles after practice, and Satsuki and Tetsu tend to join in. 

He's running late today, though; one of the coaches stole him away to work on his slider and his sinker and they both last track of time. He jogs through the locker room, his open uniform shirt flapping, bag smacking into the back of his thigh. On his way out, he spots Midorima in the last row, and skids to a stop.

“Midorima!” He lifts his hand in a wave. “You heading out? Coaches'll probably want to lock up soon.” 

Midorima doesn't look up at him. He's nearly frantic as he searches through his bag, uniform and hat and mitt in a neat stack on the bench, baby blue socks balled up next to them, his bat leaning against the lockers. Aomine frowns and steps into the aisle.

“Hey, you okay?”

“My glove,” Midorima looks up at Aomine, hair still damp from the shower, looking he's seconds away from crying. “My batting glove--I swear I put it in here after practice, but I can't find it. My tape, too, it's--” He takes a shaky breath, and Aomine lowers his bag to the bench.

“I'll help you look.”

He walks down the aisle, scanning, leans down to look underneath the bench. He sweeps through the next row, then the one after that, standing on top of the furthest bench to peer out over the tops of the lockers--nothing. He checks the showers, circles back to Midorima, who is still combing through his bag, though looking a little more dejected now. 

“Let me try one more place.”

Aomine exits the locker room, heading towards the door out to the set of diamonds. He passes a trash can, something catches his eye, and, oh.

Aomine sighs. 

There's a flash of movement at the end of the hallway, and Aomine looks to that, then, spotting the group of B team kids that tear off, laughing, and without thinking, he sprints after them. 

“Just because you don't have talent doesn't mean you have to be assholes!” He yells after them, but they're already ran outside. Aomine kicks at the tile, balling his hands into fists as he walks back to the trash can. They're the kind of guys that wouldn't have made the A team even if Midorima went to another school; he can't say he expects better of them, but that doesn't mean Midorima deserves this. 

Luckily, the glove is hastily covered under a bag of chips, and he's able to retrieve two rolls of tape without digging down too deep. None of it smells, thankfully, but he still wipes the glove on the front of his pants for good measure.

“Found it!” Aomine jogs back into the locker room, pushing the items into Midorima's hands. “They were by the dugout; maybe your bag was unzipped and they fell out on the way back?”

“I guess so,” Midorima says after a moment, carefully turning the glove over in his hands, revealing little doubt in his words. He looks up at Aomine. “Thank you, senpai.”

“Don't worry about it,” Aomine smiles, sinking down to the bench. “And like I've said before, just call me Aomine!”

“Right,” Midorima’s cheeks color a faint pink, and he sits down next to Aomine. Roll of tape in hand, he starts wrapping his fingers, and Aomine can’t help but lean in and watch.

“Wow, that looks so clean! I jammed my thumb last year and Satsuki tried taping it and it didn’t look half as good as yours does. Do you really do this every day?”

Midorima nods. “I just started a few weeks ago, after graduation. But I guess I’ve had some practice.”

“That’s so cool…” Aomine looks at the callouses on his hands, mostly healed over now that the summer weather has settled in. “Mine are probably too messed up for taping to a difference.”

It’s Midorima’s turn to marvel now, eyes widening at Aomine’s hands.

“I never noticed before. Do you not wear gloves in games?”

“Never,” Aomine grins. “My dad and my grandpa both played through college; they’re nuts for baseball. I’ve been using wooden bats since I was a kid thanks to them. Aluminum in leagues, and here, too, but wooden bats are still really cool, y’know? That’s what the pros use!”

“I don’t mind hitting. But I’d prefer to pitch.”

“Yeah? You’re doing pretty good out in right field. Thought you could probably start as a pitcher if you stayed on the B team.”

“True,” Midorima admits after a pause. “But I don’t think I’d get any better playing with them.”

Aomine laughs, and it feels earned this time. “You got that right.”

“I can’t say I’ll be happy if you come gunning for me,” Aomine stands up with a stretch. “But it’d be nice to have some reliable relief.”

“Right,” Midorima agrees automatically, and then his cheeks color again, scrambling to backtrack. “Not that the current relievers are bad, but--”

“Don’t apologize!” Aomine laughs, ruffling Midorima’s hair. “You have a goal in mind. I like that.” Midorima beams, smiling a little as he fixes his hair. He finishes taping up his fingers, and they walk out of the locker room together, Aomine wincing a little as he scrolls through his unread texts.

“Hey,” He slips his phone back into his pocket. “Me and Satsuki and some of the guys are gonna go get ice cream--wanna come with?”

“Thank you,” Midorima squeezes the plush frog he has in hand; that’s weird, didn’t he have a tanuki with him the other day? “But practice went a little long; maybe next time.”

“Next time, then,” Aomine points a warning finger, still facing Midorima as he walks backwards. “We go pretty often, so you better not have any more excuses!”


End file.
